


Karmic Balance

by FlyingLizards



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Deadpool Thought Boxes, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, No beta we die like mne, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingLizards/pseuds/FlyingLizards
Summary: A shitty life leads to a shittier week leading to the meeting of the love of Wade’s life. Wade meets Peter Parker on the streets.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 220





	Karmic Balance

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for errors and missing words etc

It was frankly a thing of karmic balance. A shitty life leads to a shittier week leading to the meeting of the love of Wade’s life. Usually the worst days are Mondays, as the greatest philosopher of our times, the fat orange lasagna loving cat Garfield repeatedly said. And the greatest day of the week are Fridays, as wisely put by Marcela Paz’s paper son, Papelucho. These two statements were the truest pieces of knowledge he’s come across while starving on a tiny yacht. (Something that has actually happened more than once)

Wade read both, comics and book, once stranded at the Pacific Ocean with no other company but the rotting corpse of his latest mark and no other entertainment but whatever composed his victim’s personal library; constant suicide gets boring after a while specially once you run out of bullets and are forced to become _original_ about it.

Wade’s dried husk arrived at a Polynesian island, and once he was done like a cartoon’s astronaut food, and became rehydrated, he went back to North America, and thus begun one of the worst weeks of his life. One of many, most of his weeks actually went like this to be honest, but this one was worse than dying of starvation, worse than the weirdly intimate feeling of having seagulls poking at his brain when his muscles failed and he collapsed.

At least those hellish birds indicated the coast was near.

And so it was Monday when Hydra captured him and brought forth the most violent of flashbacks the moment they opened him up for some good ol’ vivisection. So far Garfield was completely right.

When Wade came to himself it was Tuesday night, a smoking hydra base at his back, the smell of charred meat and burned oil drowning his senses, and no memory of what happened and how he got out.

Wade spat a whole ear –the blood rushing to his head was the only distinguishable sound, and walked back home barefooted. He stomped on some nails and had to pluck them out; walking on debris and alleyways without shoes had proven to be not as fun as previously imagined.

He arrived to one of his safehouses Wednesday morning; he crashed hard and woke up with a rat on his mouth and a recently eaten tongue.

Thursday he decided that, out of his pure hatred toward seagulls, he would kill some pigeons. Because fuck birds. So he brought a beach chair, installed himself on a rooftop, threw handfuls of breadcrumbs around him and began shooting.

As a result those fucking rat-Pegasus ganged up on him and dropped some white shit bombs all over his suit, chair, and the corpses of their comrades.

It was the lack of respite most of all, that made it so fucking awful. Also the fact that Spider-Man and his spider butt had been nowhere near Wade’s usual haunts in the last two months.

Wade was feeling painfully _deprived_ of his favorite arachnid,

**Or was it _depraved_? **

Both, whatever.

Anyways.

So, Friday at noon he ordered a pizza and decided to stay at his rat infested apartment, at least for the company of the vermin; now he understood why hopeful mothers talked often about the sound of little feet running around in their future, it was oddly soothing, like white noise, like a constant _pat pat pat pat_ of four legged long tailed hairy little wingless pigeons.

Beautiful.

An hour after he called the pizza, it had not fucking arrived “It better be fucking free” Wade mumbled, petting his new pet, Rattigan, Bond villain style.

_You made another pizza place blacklist us didn’t you. This is what happens when you shoot the delivery guy when you don’t like the pizza._

**You gotta shoot the messenger! Shoot the delivery guy!**

Two hours later, he still lies in wait. So Wade holsters his guns, tucks Rattigan on the little bed he made for him on his nightstand’s drawer, and goes out to cause some mayhem out of sheer frustration and hunger.

_Like toddlers do._

Outside smells of urine and car smoke. There’s a myriad of Horns assaulting his ears, plus a sea of pedestrians steering clear from him; the beefcaked freak on the red suit. On a good day, such things would have been nothing but a blip on his radar, but today is not a good day. There have not been good days in a long time.

It’s when he is at where the crowd it’s the most dense that his recently made enemies descend from the skies on an impromptu attack; a flock of pigeons start clawing and pecking at his face, on revenge from decimating them the day before. Wade screams and swats at them, trying to take out either Bea or Arthur, which proves futile.

He hears laughs outside the flutter of wings. Some gasps. The distinct sound of someone starting to record a video on their phone.

_Birds remember faces, apparently. And masks._

**They are fucking hilarious to harass though.**

Then, like the assholes they are, they hook their claws on the seams of his mask and pull it off, he notices it when it’s already too late. The sudden cold air on his skin hits him like a slap and Wade curls on himself. The birds fly away contempt with their price, leaving him exposed.

_They literally tried to rip off your face._

**If they’d rip your actual face it’d be an improvement. You could pull that Roman Sionis look better than you do Freddy Krueger!**

_Although, instead of mask it’d be your actual skull_

Being attacked by every city’s most iconic bird called a lot of attention. Wade straights himself up slowly, heart on his throat.

He is surrounded by civilians, they circle him, and they stare wide eyed and gaping.

Someone gasps, a kid screams.

Wade sees red, he feels sweat on his back and his heart pounds painfully.

He snarls and shouts.

“STOP LOOKING! STOP _FUCKING LOOKING!”_ he pulls out a gun and stars waving it around. The mob is paralyzed and they stare, and stare, and _stare._

 _“Oh my god what is wrong with him”_ says a strangled voice at his back, he turns around and points wildly.

_Oh if I had a body id be full-body shuddering right now_

**DON’T LOOK AT THE HIDEOUS MAN BEHIND THE MASK**

“WHO SAID THAT! FUCK! _FUCK! MOVE! STOP LOOKING!”_

His breathing is labored. The sides of his vision become dark. He doesn’t want to kill anybody. Or doesn’t he? He has to, or they won’t stop. They stare and whisper and it’s all he can hear over his beating heart. The horror of them at _him_. He can feel it.

Everything goes dark.

**WE ARE BLIND!**

_There’s something on our head, moron._

Light it’s filtrating through fabric.

He can still hear them murmur and hissing at each other, paralyzed. Something is covering his head, whatever it is, is warm and smells of cologne. It is enough to shake him out of his panic.

“I’m not looking!” a voice says: male, young “I have my eyes closed, I promise. I’m not looking”

Wade turns towards the voice, and slightly moves the fabric –a sweater, he realizes –to stare at his interlocutor.

And holy moly oily cannoli.

**Ravioli ravioli fuck mine holey.**

_KILL HIM_

The guy talking is the most _beautiful_ man Wade has ever seen. Like Andrew Garfield Pretty, like maybe even _Ben Barnes_ pretty “You can use that to cover yourself up” the guy says softly, still not opening his eyes, his hands raised and open, non-threatening.

People is still talking, but Wade cannot hear them.

The man, (young man?), he must be no more than twenty, looks completely at ease under the scrutiny of someone who has the half heart of shooting him in the head.

Still, Wade acquiesces, covering everything but his eyes, still not lowering his gun.

“Did you, uh, cover yourself?” the young man asks.

“Yeah” his voice sounds rough, more than usual. The guy gives him a half grin and offers his hand.

“Come on, take it. I’ll guide us away from here”

He keeps his hand extended until it begins shaking from exhaustion; it is only then that Wade takes it, putting his weapon inside his pocket for ready use. The other man squeezes his hand and says:

“I’ll turn around and I’ll open my eyes, but I promise I won’t look back, alright?”

“If you look I’ll shoot you” Wade threatens roughly. The guy just nods and squeezes his hand again. Wade’s heart skips a beat.

“Alright”

The stranger does as he promised, and he must be very good at glaring, because the previously immobilized crowd parts around them like the red sea after one look at his face. He guides them both away at a steady and sure pace, right into a little store and purchases a balaclava, he hands it to Wade with his eyes closed. Wade tosses him his sweater, and the kid doesn’t even flinch when it lands on his head and quickly dresses himself .

Wade puts the mask on.

“You can look now” Wade murmurs, uneasy, hand ready at his waist to shoot and paralyzes when the guy opens his eyes.

Because Jesus Christ’s sweet Abs those are the _most_ beautiful Bambi eyes he has _ever seen_ in his sucky yucky life. They are big and honey like, and they _fucking_ sparkle in the light.

 _Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly_ Wade quotes to himself. The boxes gag.

And then, the guy _smiles_ at him.

“Great then”

“Great” Wade mumbles back, enthralled. That, that right there. That’s a fucking angel. The kind those horny renaissance painters were all over. He has dark chocolate hair, it looks so soft and messy and perfect. His sweater looks big on him; effectively hiding the lean musculature Wade admired all the way here.

**Didn’t hide his bubble butt though, _hey-oooo!_**

Wade doesn’t even get the time to feel inadequate, he can only feel elation.

They vacate the store and begin walking aimlessly. The mask itches and doesn’t smell nearly as good as the other’s sweater, but it doesn’t really matter at his point.

“Soooo. What’s your name?” Wade asks, chirpily. The kid startles faintly at the mood change, bites his lips showing the first signs of unease during their short acquaintance. Wade follows the movement, entranced at how teeth release the soft flesh slowly.

“Peter” He says finally.

"Peter! Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled Peppers! I'm Wade! Wade Wilson"

Peter grins "Pleasure to meet you, Wade"

“He says _pleasure to meet you, Wade”_ Wade squeaks “Pleasure to meet _you!_ You doe-eyes, you heroic twink _you_ ”

“Heroic twink?” Peter seems undecided on either being offended or amused.

_Is that your idea of a compliment? you creep._

“Yes! Hercules before the satyr-approved Twunk training regimen, that’s you.”

Or maybe a human (adult) Bambi.

Peter snorts

“Twunk? It was Philoctetes’ _Hunk_ training for Zeros”

Wade gasps.

“What do you mean? Have you _even_ gone the distance, Pete?!”

Peter laughs at this,

“I might be tiny compared to you, but _a true hero isn’t measured by the size of his muscled, but by the size of his heart_ ”

Oh damn he’s got quotes ready for the occasion.

_Fucking nerd, shoot him._

**Shove him inside a locker!**

_Flush his head on a toilet._

“You got a big heart in there Petey Pie?”

Peter grinned

“Yeah, Man. It grows three times its size every Christmas. In a few years it’ll be the same size as my dick”

A second after he says it, Peter startles, and his face colors with embarrassment. But Wade doesn’t get to see this.

Wade stops walking, and begins _cackling,_ loud and for what feels like minutes. After a moment Peter joins him.

And it was like that, that Wade met the love of his life.

Once Wade is back, take out on his hand from a near Taco store, he is giddy and skipping his steps. He grabs Rattigan and kisses him on his tiny nose.

It’s all about karmic balance; it’s been the worst life of his _life_ ; an actual shitshow. But it evens out because today he met the most beautiful creature in the universe, and it was worth _everything._

**Author's Note:**

> might continue this, might not. I've got so many spideypol fics lying around, i just love them so much. 
> 
> also, I absolutely love Peter being effortessly Wade's type.


End file.
